'You don't!'
'I do! Look at the men I've been out with.' She starts counting off on her fingers. 'Daniel
borrowed all that money off me and disappeared to Mexico. Gary chucked me as soon as I
found him a job. David was two-timing me. Do you see a pattern emerging?'
'I… um…' I say helplessly. 'Possibly…'
'I just think I should give up.' Her face falls. 'I'm never going to find anyone nice.'
'No,' I say at once. 'Don't give up! Katie, I just know your life is going to turn around. You're
going to find some lovely, kind, wonderful man-'
'But where?' she says hopelessly.
'I… don't know.' I cross my fingers behind my back. 'But I know it'll happen. I've got a really
strong feeling about it.'
'Really?' She stares at me. 'You do?'
'Absolutely!' I think quickly for a moment. 'Look, here's an idea. Why don't you try… going
to have lunch at a different place today. Somewhere completely different. And maybe you'll
meet someone there.'
'You think?' She gazes at me. 'OK. I'll try it.'
She gives a gusty sigh, and we start walking along the pavement again. 'The only good thing
about the weekend,' she adds as we reach the corner, 'is I finished making my new top. What
do you think?'
She proudly takes off her jacket and does a twirl, and I stare at her for a few seconds, not
quite sure what to say.
It's not that I don't like crochet…
OK. It is that I don't like crochet.
Especially pink scoop-neck open-weave crochet tops. You can actually see glimpses of her
bra through it.
'It's… amazing,' I manage at last. 'Absolutely fantastic!'
'Isn't it great?' She gives me a pleased smile. 'And it was so quick to do! I'm going to make the
matching skirt next.'
'That's great,' I say faintly. 'You're so clever.'
'Oh, it's nothing! I just enjoy it.'
She smiles modestly, and puts her jacket back on. 'So anyway, how about you?' she adds as
we start to cross the road. 'Did you have a nice weekend? I bet you did. I bet Connor was
completely wonderful and romantic. I bet he took you out for dinner or something.'
'Actually, he asked me to move in with him,' I say awkwardly.
'Really?' Katie gazes wistfully at me. 'God, Emma, you two make the perfect couple. You
give me faith that it can happen. It all seems so easy for you.'
I can't help feeling a little flicker of pleasure inside. Me and Connor. The perfect couple. Role
models for other people.
'It's not that easy,' I say with a modest little laugh. 'I mean, we argue, like anyone else.'
'Do you?' Katie looks surprised. 'I've never seen you argue.'
'Of course we do!'
I rack my brain for a moment, trying to remember the last time Connor and I had a fight. I
mean, obviously we do have arguments. Loads of them. All couples do. It's only healthy.
Come on, this is silly. We must have-
Yes. There was that time by the river when I thought those big white birds were geese and
Connor thought they were swans. Exactly. We're normal. I knew it.
We're nearing the Panther building now, and as we walk up the pale stone steps, each with a
granite panther jumping across it, I start feeling a bit nervous. Paul will want a full report on
how the meeting went with Glen Oil.
What shall I say?
Well, obviously I'll be completely frank and honest. Without actually telling him the truth-
'Hey, look.' Katie's voice interrupts me and I follow her gaze. Through the glass front of the
building I can see a commotion in the foyer. This isn't normal. What's going on?
God, has there been a fire, or something?
As Katie and I push our way through the heavy revolving glass doors, we look at each other in
bewilderment. The whole place is in turmoil. People are scurrying about, someone's polishing
the brass banister, someone else is polishing the fake plants, and Cyril, the senior office
manager, is shooing people into lifts.
'Could you please go to your offices! We don't want you hanging around the reception area.
You should all be at your desks by now.' He sounds completely stressed out. 'There's nothing
to see down here! Please go to your desks.'
'What's happening?' I say to Dave the security guard, who's lounging against the wall with a
cup of tea as usual. He takes a sip, swills it around his mouth and gives us a grin.
'Jack Harper's visiting.
'What?' We both gawp at him.
'Today?'
'Are you serious?'
In the world of the Panther Corporation, this is like saying the Pope's visiting. Or Father
Christmas. Jack Harper is the joint founder of the Panther Corporation. He invented Panther
Cola. I know this because I've typed out blurbs about him approximately a million times. 'It
was 1987 when young, dynamic business partners Jack Harper and Pete Laidler bought up the
ailing Zoot soft-drinks company, repackaged Zootacola as Panther Cola, invented the slogan
"Don't Pause", and thus made marketing history.'
No wonder Cyril's in a tizz.
'In about five minutes.' Dave consults his watch. 'Give or take.'
'But… but how come?' says Katie. 'I mean, just out of the blue like this.'
Dave's eyes twinkle. He's obviously been telling people the news all morning and is
thoroughly enjoying himself.
'He wants to have a look round the UK operation, apparently.'
'I thought he wasn't active in the business any more,' says Jane from Accounts, who's come up
behind us in her coat and is listening, agog. 'I thought ever since Pete Laidler died he was all
grief-stricken and reclusive. On his ranch, or whatever it is.'
'That was three years ago,' points out Katie. 'Maybe he's feeling better.'
'Maybe he wants to sell us off, more like,' says Jane darkly.
'Why would he do that?'
'You never know.'
'My theory,' says Dave, and we all bend our heads to listen, 'is he wants to see if the plants are
shiny enough.' He nods his head towards Cyril, and we all giggle.
'Be careful,' Cyril is snapping. 'Don't damage the stems.' He glances up. 'What are you all still
doing there?'
'Just going!' says Katie, and we head towards the stairs, which I always use because it means I
don't have to bother with the gym. Plus luckily Marketing is on the first floor. We've just
reached the landing when Jane squeaks 'Look! Oh my God! It's him!'
A limousine has purred up the street and stopped right in front of the glass doors.
What is it about some cars? They look so gleaming and burnished, as if they're made out of a
completely different metal from normal cars.
As if by clockwork, the lift doors at the other end of the foyer open, and out strides Graham
Hillingdon, the chief executive, plus the managing director and about six others, all looking
immaculate in dark suits.
'That's enough!' Cyril is hissing at the poor cleaners in the foyer. 'Go! Leave it!'
The three of us stand, goggling like children, as the passenger door of the limousine opens. A
moment later, out gets a man with blond hair in a navy blue overcoat. He's wearing dark
glasses and is holding a very expensive-looking briefcase.
Wow. He looks like a million dollars.
Graham Hillingdon and the others are all outside by now, lined up on the steps. They shake
his hand in turn, then usher him inside, where Cyril is waiting.
'Welcome to the Panther Corporation UK,' Cyril says fulsomely. 'I hope your journey was
pleasant?'
'Not too bad, thanks,' says the man, in an American accent.
'As you can see, this is very much a normal working day…'
'Hey look,' murmurs Katie. 'Kenny's stuck outside the doors.'
Kenny Davey, one of the designers, is hovering uncertainly on the steps outside in his jeans
and baseball boots, not knowing whether to come in or not. He puts a hand to the door, then
retreats a little, then comes up to the door again and peers uncertainly inside.
'Come in, Kenny!' says Cyril, opening the door with a rather savage smile. 'One of our
designers, Kenny Davey. You should have been here ten minutes ago, Kenny. Still, never
mind!' He pushes a bewildered Kenny towards the lifts, then glances up and shoos us away in
irritation.
'Come on,' says Katie, 'we'd better go.' And, trying not to giggle, the three of us hurry up the
stairs.
The atmosphere in the marketing department is a bit like my bedroom used to be before we
had parties in the sixth form. People are brushing their hair, spraying perfume, shuffling
papers around and gossiping excitedly. As I walk past the office of Neil Gregg, who is in
charge of media strategy, I see him carefully lining up his Marketing Effectiveness awards on
his desk, while Fiona his assistant is polishing the framed photographs of him shaking hands
with famous people.
I'm just hanging up my coat on the rack when the head of our department, Paul, pulls me aside.
'What the fuck happened at Glen Oil? I had a very strange email from Doug Hamilton this
morning. You poured a drink over him?'
I stare at him in shock. Doug Hamilton told Paul? But he promised he wouldn't!
'It wasn't like that,' I say quickly. 'I was just trying to demonstrate the many fine qualities of
Panther Prime and I… I kind of spilled it.' Paul raises his eyebrows, not in a friendly way.
'All right. It was a lot to ask of you.'
'It wasn't,' I say quickly. 'I mean, it would have been fine, if… what I mean is, if you give me
another chance, I'll do better. I promise.'
'We'll see.' He looks at his watch. 'You'd better get on. Your desk is a fucking mess.'
'OK. Um, what time will my appraisal be?'
'Emma, in case you hadn't heard, Jack Harper's visiting us today,' says Paul, in his most
sarcastic voice. 'But of course, if you think your appraisal's more important than the guy who
founded the company-'
'I didn't mean… I just…'
'Go and tidy your desk,' says Paul in a bored voice. 'And if you spill fucking Panther Prime
over Harper, you're fired.'
As I scuttle to my desk, Cyril comes into the room, looking hassled.
'Attention!' he says, clapping his hands. 'Attention everyone! This is an informal visit, nothing
more. Mr Harper will come in, perhaps talk to one or two of you, observe what you do. So I
want you all just to act normally, but obviously, at your highest standards… What are these
papers?' he suddenly snaps, looking at a neat pile of proofs in the corner next to Fergus
Grady's desk.
'That's the… um… artwork for the new Panther Gum campaign,' says Fergus, who is very
shy and creative. 'I haven't quite got room on my desk.'
'Well, they can't stay here!' Cyril picks them up and shoves them at him. 'Get rid of them.
Now, if he asks any of you a question, just be pleasant and natural. When he arrives, I want
you all at work. Just doing typical tasks which you would naturally be doing in the course of a
normal day.' He looks around distractedly. 'Some of you could be on the phone, some could
be typing at your computers… a couple of you could be creatively brainstorming…
Remember, this department is the hub of the company. The Panther Corporation is renowned
for its marketing brilliance!'
He stops and we all stare dumbly at him.
'Get on!' He claps his hands again. 'Don't just stand there. You!' He points to me. 'Come on.
Move!'
Oh, God. My desk is completely covered with stuff. I open a drawer and sweep a whole load
of papers inside, then in slight panic, begin to tidy the pens in my stationery pot. At the next
desk, Artemis Harrison is redoing her lipstick.
'It'll be really inspirational to meet him,' she says, admiring herself in her hand mirror. 'You
know, a lot of people think he single-handedly changed the face of marketing practice.' Her
eyes fall on me. 'Is that a new top, Emma? Where's it from?'
'Er, French Connection,' I say after a pause.
'I was in French Connection at the weekend.' Her eyes are narrowing. 'I didn't see that design.'
'Well, they'd probably sold out.' I turn away and pretend to be reorganizing my top drawer.
'What do we call him?' Caroline is saying. 'Mr Harper or Jack?'
'Five minutes alone with him,' Nick, one of the marketing executives, is saying feverishly into
his phone. 'That's all I need. Five minutes to pitch him the website idea. I mean, Jesus, if he
went for it-'
God, the air of excitement is infectious. With a spurt of adrenalin, I find myself reaching for
my comb and checking my lip-gloss. I mean, you never know. Maybe he'll somehow spot my
potential. Maybe he'll pull me out of the crowd!
'OK, folks,' says Paul, striding into the department. 'He's on this floor. He's going into Admin
first…'
'On with your everyday tasks!' exclaims Cyril. 'Now!'
Fuck. What's my everyday task?
I pick up my phone and press my voice-mail code. I can be listening to my messages.
I look around the department — and see that everyone else has done the same thing.
We can't all be on the phone. This is so stupid! OK, I'll just switch on my computer and wait
for it to warm up.
As I watch the screen changing colour, Artemis starts talking in a loud voice.
'I think the whole essence of the concept is vitality,' she says, her eye constantly flicking
towards the door. 'D'you see what I mean?'
'Er, yes,' says Nick. 'I mean, in a modern marketing environment, I think we need to be
looking at a… um… fusion of strategy and forward-thinking vision…'
God, my computer's slow today. Jack Harper will arrive and I'll still be staring at it like a
moron.
I know what I'll do. I'll be the person getting a coffee. I mean, what could be more natural
than that?
'I think I'll get a coffee,' I say self-consciously, and get up from my seat.
'Could you get me one?' says Artemis, looking up briefly. 'So anyway, on my MBA course…'
The coffee machine is near the entrance to the department, in its own little alcove. As I'm
waiting for the noxious liquid to fill my cup, I glance up, and see Graham Hillingdon walking
out of the admin department, followed by a couple of others. Shit! He's coming!
OK. Keep cool. Just wait for the second cup to fill, nice and natural…
And there he is! With his blond hair and his expensive-looking suit, and his dark glasses. But
to my slight surprise, he steps back, out of the way.
In fact, no-one's even looking at him. Everyone's attention is focused on some other guy. A
guy in jeans and a black turtleneck who's walking out now.
As I stare in fascination, he turns. And as I see his face I feel an almighty thud, as though a
bowling ball's landed hard in my chest.
Oh my God.
It's him.
The same dark eyes. The same lines etched around them. The stubble's gone, but it's definitely
him.
It's the man from the plane.
What's he doing here?
And why is everyone's attention on him? He's speaking now, and they're lapping up every
word he says.
He turns again, and I instinctively duck back out of sight, trying to keep calm. What's he
doing here? He can't-
That can't be-
That can't possibly be-
With wobbly legs, I walk back to my desk, trying not to drop the coffee on the floor.
'Hey,' I say to Artemis, my voice pitched slightly too high. 'Erm… do you know what Jack
Harper looks like?'
'No,' she says, and takes her coffee. 'Thanks.'
'Dark hair,' says someone.
'Dark?' I swallow. 'Not blond?'
'He's coming this way!' hisses someone. 'He's coming!'
With weak legs I sink into my chair and sip my coffee, not tasting it.
'… our head of marketing and promotion, Paul Fletcher,' I can hear Graham saying.
'Good to meet you, Paul,' comes the same dry, American voice.
It's him. It's definitely him.
OK, keep calm. Maybe he won't remember me. It was one short flight. He probably takes a lot
of flights.
'Everyone.' Paul is leading him into the centre of the office. 'I'm delighted to introduce our
founding father, the man who has influenced and inspired a generation of marketeers — Jack
Harper!'
A round of applause breaks out, and Jack Harper shakes his head, smiling. 'Please,' he says.
'No fuss. Just do what you would normally do.'
He starts to walk around the office, pausing now and then to talk to people. Paul is leading the
way, making all the introductions, and following them silently everywhere is the blond man.
'Here he comes!' Artemis hisses, and everyone at our end of the office stiffens.
My heart starts to thump, and I shrink into my chair, trying to hide behind my computer.
Maybe he won't recognize me. Maybe he won't remember. Maybe he won't-
Fuck. He's looking at me. I see the flash of surprise in his eyes, and he raises his eyebrows.
He recognizes me.
Please don't come over, I silently pray. Please don't come over.
'And who's this?' he says to Paul.
'This is Emma Corrigan, one of our junior marketing assistants.'
He's walking towards me. Artemis has stopped talking. Everyone's staring. I'm hot with
embarrassment.
'Hello,' he says pleasantly.
'Hello,' I manage. 'Mr Harper.'
OK, so he recognizes me. But that doesn't necessarily mean he remembers anything I said. A
few random comments thrown out by a person in the next-door seat. Who's going to
remember that? Maybe he wasn't even listening.
'And what do you do?'
'I, um, assist the marketing department and I help with setting up promotional initiatives,' I
mumble.
'Emma was in Glasgow only last week on business,' puts in Paul, giving me a completely
phoney smile. 'We believe in giving our junior staff responsibility as early as possible.'
'Very wise,' says Jack Harper, nodding. His gaze runs over my desk and alights with sudden
interest on my polystyrene cup. He looks up and meets my eye. 'How's the coffee?' he asks
pleasantly. 'Tasty?'
Like a tape recording in my head, I suddenly hear my own stupid voice, prattling on.
'The coffee at work is the most disgusting stuff you've ever drunk, absolute poison …'
'It's great!' I say. 'Really… delicious!'
'I'm very glad to hear it.' There's a spark of amusement in his eyes, and I feel myself redden.
He remembers. Fuck. He remembers.
'And this is Artemis Harrison,' says Paul. 'One of our brightest young marketing executives.'
'Artemis,' says Jack Harper thoughtfully. He takes a few steps towards her work station.
'That's a nice big desk you've got there, Artemis.' He smiles at her. 'Is it new?'
'… this new desk arrived the other day, and she just took it …'
He remembers everything, doesn't he? Everything.
Oh God. What the fuck else did I say?
I'm sitting perfectly still, while Artemis makes some showy-off reply, with my pleasant, goodemployee
expression. But my mind is frantically spooling back, trying to remember, trying to
piece together what I said. I mean, God, I told this man everything about myself. Everything. I
told him what sort of knickers I wear, and what flavour ice-cream I like, and how I lost my
virginity, and-
My blood runs cold.
I'm remembering something I should not have told him.
Something I should not have told anyone.
'… I know I shouldn't have done it, but I so wanted to get the job …'
I told him about faking the A grade on my CV.
Well, that's it. I'm dead.
He'll fire me. I'll get a record for being dishonest and no-one will ever employ me again, and
I'll end up on a 'Britain's Worst Jobs' documentary, clearing up cow poo, saying brightly 'It's
not too bad, really.'
OK. Don't panic. There must be something I can do. I'll apologize. Yes. I'll say it was an error
of judgement which I now deeply regret, and I never meant to mislead the company, and-
No. I'll say, 'Actually, I did get an A grade, haha, silly me I forgot!' And then I'll forge a
GCSE certificate with one of those calligraphy kits. I mean, he's American. He'll never know.
No. He's bound to find out. Oh God. Oh God.
OK, maybe I'm over-reacting here. Let's just get things in proportion. Jack Harper is a huge
important guy. Look at him! He's got limos and flunkies, and a huge great company which
makes millions every year. He doesn't care if one of his employees got a poxy A grade or not.
I mean, honestly!
I laugh out loud in my nerves, and Artemis gives me an odd look.
'I'd just like to say that I'm very glad to meet you all,' says Jack Harper, looking around the
silent office. 'And also introduce my assistant Sven Petersen.' He gestures to the guy with
blond hair. 'I'll be staying here for a few days so I hope I'll get to know a few of you better. As
you're aware, Pete Laidler, who founded the Panther Corporation with me, was British. For
that reason, among many others, this country has always been immensely important to me.'
A sympathetic murmur goes around the office. He lifts a hand, nods, and walks away,
followed by Sven and all the executives. There's silence until he's gone, then an excited
babble breaks out.
I feel my whole body sag in relief. Thank God. Thank God.
Honestly, I'm such a moron. Fancy thinking even for a moment that Jack Harper would
remember what I said. Let alone care about it! Fancy thinking he would take time out of his
busy, important schedule, for something as tiny and insignificant as whether I faked my CV or
not! As I reach for my mouse and click on a new document, I'm actually smiling.
'Emma.' I look up to see Paul standing over my desk. 'Jack Harper would like to see you,' he
says curtly.
'What?' My smile fades away. 'Me?'
'The meeting room in five minutes.'
'Did he say why?'
'No.'
Paul strides off, and I gaze unseeingly at my computer screen, feeling sick.
I was right first time.
I'm going to lose my job.
I'm going to lose my job because of one stupid comment on one stupid plane ride.
Why did I have to get upgraded? Why did I have to open my stupid mouth? I'm just a stupid,
stupid blabbermouth.
'Why does Jack Harper want to see you?' says Artemis, sounding put out.
'I don't know,' I say.
'Is he seeing anyone else?'
'I don't know!' I say distractedly.
To stop her asking any more questions, I start typing drivel into my computer, my mind
whirring round and round.
I can't lose this job. I can't ruin yet another career.
He can't fire me. He just can't. It's not fair. I didn't know who he was. I mean, obviously, if
he'd told me he was my employer, I would never have mentioned my CV. Or… any of it.
And anyway, it's not as if I faked my degree, is it? It's not as if I've got a criminal record or
something. I'm a good employee. I try really hard and I don't skive off that often, and I put in
all that overtime with the sportswear promotion, and I organized the Christmas raffle…
I'm typing harder and harder, and my face is growing red with agitation.
'Emma.' Paul is looking meaningfully at his watch.
'Right.' I take a deep breath and stand up.
I'm not going to let him fire me. I'm just not going to let it happen.
I stride across the office and down the corridor to the meeting room, knock on the door and
push it open.
Jack Harper is sitting on a chair at the conference table, scribbling something in a notebook.
As I come in, he looks up, and the grave expression on his face makes my stomach turn over.
But I have to defend myself. I have to keep this job.
'Hi,' he says. 'Can you close the door?' He waits until I've done so, then looks up. 'Emma, we
need to talk about something.'
'I'm aware that we do,' I say, trying to keep my voice steady. 'But I'd like to say my part first,
if I may.'
For a moment Jack Harper looks taken aback — then he raises his eyebrows.
'Sure. Go ahead.'
I walk into the room, take a deep breath and look him straight in the eye.
'Mr Harper, I know what you want to see me about. I know it was wrong. It was an error of
judgement which I deeply regret. I'm extremely sorry, and it will never happen again. But in
my defence…' I can hear my voice rising in emotion. 'In my defence, I had no idea who you
were on that plane ride. And I don't believe I should be penalized for what was an honest
genuine mistake.'
There's a pause.
'You think I'm penalizing you?' says Jack Harper at last, with a frown.
How can he be so callous?
'Yes! You must realize I would never have mentioned my CV if I'd known who you were! It
was like a… a honeytrap! You know, if this was a court the judge would throw it out. They
wouldn't even let you-'
'Your CV?' Jack Harper's brow clears. 'Ah! The A grade on your resume.' He gives me a
penetrating look. 'The falsified A grade, I should say.'
Hearing it out loud like that silences me. I can feel my face growing hotter and hotter.
'You know, a lot of people would call that fraud,' says Jack Harper, leaning back in his chair.
'I know they would. I know it was wrong. I shouldn't have… But it doesn't affect the way I
do my job. It doesn't mean anything.'
'You think?' He shakes his head thoughtfully. 'I don't know. Going from a C grade to an A
grade… that's quite a jump. What if we need you to do some math?'
'I can do maths,' I say desperately. 'Ask me a maths question. Go on, ask me anything.'
'OK.' His mouth is twitching. 'Eight nines.'
I stare at him, my heart racing, my mind blank. Eight nines. I've got no idea. Fuck. OK, once
nine is nine. Two nines are-
No. I've got it. Eight tens are 80. So eight nines must be-
'Seventy-two!' I cry, and flinch as he gives a tiny half-smile. 'It's seventy-two,' I add more
calmly.
'Very good.' He gestures politely to a chair. 'Now. Have you finished what you wanted to say
or is there more?'
I rub my face confusedly. 'You're… not going to fire me?'
'No,' says Jack Harper patiently. 'I'm not going to fire you. Now can we talk?'
As I sit down, a horrible suspicion starts growing in my mind.
'Was…' I clear my throat. 'Was my CV what you wanted to see me about?'
'No,' he says mildly. 'That wasn't what I wanted to see you about.'
I want to die.
I want to die right here, right now.
'Right.' I smooth back my hair, trying to compose myself; trying to look businesslike. 'Right.
Well. So er, what did you… what…'
'I have a small favour to ask you.'
'Right!' I feel a thud of anticipation. 'Anything! I mean… what is it?'
'For various reasons,' says Jack Harper slowly, 'I would prefer it that nobody knows I was in
Scotland last week.' He meets my eyes. 'So I would like it very much if we could keep our
little meeting between ourselves.'
'Right!' I say after a pause. 'Of course! Absolutely. I can do that.'
'You haven't told anyone?'
'No. No-one. Not even my… I mean, no-one. I haven't told anyone.'
'Good. Thank you very much, I appreciate it.' He smiles, and gets up from his chair. 'Nice to
meet you again, Emma. I'm sure I'll see you again.'
'That's it?' I say, taken aback.
'That's it. Unless you had anything else you wanted to discuss.'
'No!' I get to my feet hurriedly, banging my ankle on the table leg.
I mean, what did I think? That he was going to ask me to head up his exciting new
international project?
Jack Harper opens the door, and holds it politely for me. And I'm halfway out when I stop.
'Wait.'
'What is it?'
'What shall I say you wanted to talk to me about?' I say awkwardly. 'Everyone's going to ask
me.'
'Why not say we were discussing logistics?' He raises his eyebrows and closes the door.
SIX
'I do! Look at the men I've been out with.' She starts counting off on her fingers. 'Daniel
borrowed all that money off me and disappeared to Mexico. Gary chucked me as soon as I
found him a job. David was two-timing me. Do you see a pattern emerging?'
'I… um…' I say helplessly. 'Possibly…'
'I just think I should give up.' Her face falls. 'I'm never going to find anyone nice.'
'No,' I say at once. 'Don't give up! Katie, I just know your life is going to turn around. You're
going to find some lovely, kind, wonderful man-'
'But where?' she says hopelessly.
'I… don't know.' I cross my fingers behind my back. 'But I know it'll happen. I've got a really
strong feeling about it.'
'Really?' She stares at me. 'You do?'
'Absolutely!' I think quickly for a moment. 'Look, here's an idea. Why don't you try… going
to have lunch at a different place today. Somewhere completely different. And maybe you'll
meet someone there.'
'You think?' She gazes at me. 'OK. I'll try it.'
She gives a gusty sigh, and we start walking along the pavement again. 'The only good thing
about the weekend,' she adds as we reach the corner, 'is I finished making my new top. What
do you think?'
She proudly takes off her jacket and does a twirl, and I stare at her for a few seconds, not
quite sure what to say.
It's not that I don't like crochet…
OK. It is that I don't like crochet.
Especially pink scoop-neck open-weave crochet tops. You can actually see glimpses of her
bra through it.
'It's… amazing,' I manage at last. 'Absolutely fantastic!'
'Isn't it great?' She gives me a pleased smile. 'And it was so quick to do! I'm going to make the
matching skirt next.'
'That's great,' I say faintly. 'You're so clever.'
'Oh, it's nothing! I just enjoy it.'
She smiles modestly, and puts her jacket back on. 'So anyway, how about you?' she adds as
we start to cross the road. 'Did you have a nice weekend? I bet you did. I bet Connor was
completely wonderful and romantic. I bet he took you out for dinner or something.'
'Actually, he asked me to move in with him,' I say awkwardly.
'Really?' Katie gazes wistfully at me. 'God, Emma, you two make the perfect couple. You
give me faith that it can happen. It all seems so easy for you.'
I can't help feeling a little flicker of pleasure inside. Me and Connor. The perfect couple. Role
models for other people.
'It's not that easy,' I say with a modest little laugh. 'I mean, we argue, like anyone else.'
'Do you?' Katie looks surprised. 'I've never seen you argue.'
'Of course we do!'
I rack my brain for a moment, trying to remember the last time Connor and I had a fight. I
mean, obviously we do have arguments. Loads of them. All couples do. It's only healthy.
Come on, this is silly. We must have-
Yes. There was that time by the river when I thought those big white birds were geese and
Connor thought they were swans. Exactly. We're normal. I knew it.
We're nearing the Panther building now, and as we walk up the pale stone steps, each with a
granite panther jumping across it, I start feeling a bit nervous. Paul will want a full report on
how the meeting went with Glen Oil.
What shall I say?
Well, obviously I'll be completely frank and honest. Without actually telling him the truth-
'Hey, look.' Katie's voice interrupts me and I follow her gaze. Through the glass front of the
building I can see a commotion in the foyer. This isn't normal. What's going on?
God, has there been a fire, or something?
As Katie and I push our way through the heavy revolving glass doors, we look at each other in
bewilderment. The whole place is in turmoil. People are scurrying about, someone's polishing
the brass banister, someone else is polishing the fake plants, and Cyril, the senior office
manager, is shooing people into lifts.
'Could you please go to your offices! We don't want you hanging around the reception area.
You should all be at your desks by now.' He sounds completely stressed out. 'There's nothing
to see down here! Please go to your desks.'
'What's happening?' I say to Dave the security guard, who's lounging against the wall with a
cup of tea as usual. He takes a sip, swills it around his mouth and gives us a grin.
'Jack Harper's visiting.
'What?' We both gawp at him.
'Today?'
'Are you serious?'
In the world of the Panther Corporation, this is like saying the Pope's visiting. Or Father
Christmas. Jack Harper is the joint founder of the Panther Corporation. He invented Panther
Cola. I know this because I've typed out blurbs about him approximately a million times. 'It
was 1987 when young, dynamic business partners Jack Harper and Pete Laidler bought up the
ailing Zoot soft-drinks company, repackaged Zootacola as Panther Cola, invented the slogan
"Don't Pause", and thus made marketing history.'
No wonder Cyril's in a tizz.
'In about five minutes.' Dave consults his watch. 'Give or take.'
'But… but how come?' says Katie. 'I mean, just out of the blue like this.'
Dave's eyes twinkle. He's obviously been telling people the news all morning and is
thoroughly enjoying himself.
'He wants to have a look round the UK operation, apparently.'
'I thought he wasn't active in the business any more,' says Jane from Accounts, who's come up
behind us in her coat and is listening, agog. 'I thought ever since Pete Laidler died he was all
grief-stricken and reclusive. On his ranch, or whatever it is.'
'That was three years ago,' points out Katie. 'Maybe he's feeling better.'
'Maybe he wants to sell us off, more like,' says Jane darkly.
'Why would he do that?'
'You never know.'
'My theory,' says Dave, and we all bend our heads to listen, 'is he wants to see if the plants are
shiny enough.' He nods his head towards Cyril, and we all giggle.
'Be careful,' Cyril is snapping. 'Don't damage the stems.' He glances up. 'What are you all still
doing there?'
'Just going!' says Katie, and we head towards the stairs, which I always use because it means I
don't have to bother with the gym. Plus luckily Marketing is on the first floor. We've just
reached the landing when Jane squeaks 'Look! Oh my God! It's him!'
A limousine has purred up the street and stopped right in front of the glass doors.
What is it about some cars? They look so gleaming and burnished, as if they're made out of a
completely different metal from normal cars.
As if by clockwork, the lift doors at the other end of the foyer open, and out strides Graham
Hillingdon, the chief executive, plus the managing director and about six others, all looking
immaculate in dark suits.
'That's enough!' Cyril is hissing at the poor cleaners in the foyer. 'Go! Leave it!'
The three of us stand, goggling like children, as the passenger door of the limousine opens. A
moment later, out gets a man with blond hair in a navy blue overcoat. He's wearing dark
glasses and is holding a very expensive-looking briefcase.
Wow. He looks like a million dollars.
Graham Hillingdon and the others are all outside by now, lined up on the steps. They shake
his hand in turn, then usher him inside, where Cyril is waiting.
'Welcome to the Panther Corporation UK,' Cyril says fulsomely. 'I hope your journey was
pleasant?'
'Not too bad, thanks,' says the man, in an American accent.
'As you can see, this is very much a normal working day…'
'Hey look,' murmurs Katie. 'Kenny's stuck outside the doors.'
Kenny Davey, one of the designers, is hovering uncertainly on the steps outside in his jeans
and baseball boots, not knowing whether to come in or not. He puts a hand to the door, then
retreats a little, then comes up to the door again and peers uncertainly inside.
'Come in, Kenny!' says Cyril, opening the door with a rather savage smile. 'One of our
designers, Kenny Davey. You should have been here ten minutes ago, Kenny. Still, never
mind!' He pushes a bewildered Kenny towards the lifts, then glances up and shoos us away in
irritation.
'Come on,' says Katie, 'we'd better go.' And, trying not to giggle, the three of us hurry up the
stairs.
The atmosphere in the marketing department is a bit like my bedroom used to be before we
had parties in the sixth form. People are brushing their hair, spraying perfume, shuffling
papers around and gossiping excitedly. As I walk past the office of Neil Gregg, who is in
charge of media strategy, I see him carefully lining up his Marketing Effectiveness awards on
his desk, while Fiona his assistant is polishing the framed photographs of him shaking hands
with famous people.
I'm just hanging up my coat on the rack when the head of our department, Paul, pulls me aside.
'What the fuck happened at Glen Oil? I had a very strange email from Doug Hamilton this
morning. You poured a drink over him?'
I stare at him in shock. Doug Hamilton told Paul? But he promised he wouldn't!
'It wasn't like that,' I say quickly. 'I was just trying to demonstrate the many fine qualities of
Panther Prime and I… I kind of spilled it.' Paul raises his eyebrows, not in a friendly way.
'All right. It was a lot to ask of you.'
'It wasn't,' I say quickly. 'I mean, it would have been fine, if… what I mean is, if you give me
another chance, I'll do better. I promise.'
'We'll see.' He looks at his watch. 'You'd better get on. Your desk is a fucking mess.'
'OK. Um, what time will my appraisal be?'
'Emma, in case you hadn't heard, Jack Harper's visiting us today,' says Paul, in his most
sarcastic voice. 'But of course, if you think your appraisal's more important than the guy who
founded the company-'
'I didn't mean… I just…'
'Go and tidy your desk,' says Paul in a bored voice. 'And if you spill fucking Panther Prime
over Harper, you're fired.'
As I scuttle to my desk, Cyril comes into the room, looking hassled.
'Attention!' he says, clapping his hands. 'Attention everyone! This is an informal visit, nothing
more. Mr Harper will come in, perhaps talk to one or two of you, observe what you do. So I
want you all just to act normally, but obviously, at your highest standards… What are these
papers?' he suddenly snaps, looking at a neat pile of proofs in the corner next to Fergus
Grady's desk.
'That's the… um… artwork for the new Panther Gum campaign,' says Fergus, who is very
shy and creative. 'I haven't quite got room on my desk.'
'Well, they can't stay here!' Cyril picks them up and shoves them at him. 'Get rid of them.
Now, if he asks any of you a question, just be pleasant and natural. When he arrives, I want
you all at work. Just doing typical tasks which you would naturally be doing in the course of a
normal day.' He looks around distractedly. 'Some of you could be on the phone, some could
be typing at your computers… a couple of you could be creatively brainstorming…
Remember, this department is the hub of the company. The Panther Corporation is renowned
for its marketing brilliance!'
He stops and we all stare dumbly at him.
'Get on!' He claps his hands again. 'Don't just stand there. You!' He points to me. 'Come on.
Move!'
Oh, God. My desk is completely covered with stuff. I open a drawer and sweep a whole load
of papers inside, then in slight panic, begin to tidy the pens in my stationery pot. At the next
desk, Artemis Harrison is redoing her lipstick.
'It'll be really inspirational to meet him,' she says, admiring herself in her hand mirror. 'You
know, a lot of people think he single-handedly changed the face of marketing practice.' Her
eyes fall on me. 'Is that a new top, Emma? Where's it from?'
'Er, French Connection,' I say after a pause.
'I was in French Connection at the weekend.' Her eyes are narrowing. 'I didn't see that design.'
'Well, they'd probably sold out.' I turn away and pretend to be reorganizing my top drawer.
'What do we call him?' Caroline is saying. 'Mr Harper or Jack?'
'Five minutes alone with him,' Nick, one of the marketing executives, is saying feverishly into
his phone. 'That's all I need. Five minutes to pitch him the website idea. I mean, Jesus, if he
went for it-'
God, the air of excitement is infectious. With a spurt of adrenalin, I find myself reaching for
my comb and checking my lip-gloss. I mean, you never know. Maybe he'll somehow spot my
potential. Maybe he'll pull me out of the crowd!
'OK, folks,' says Paul, striding into the department. 'He's on this floor. He's going into Admin
first…'
'On with your everyday tasks!' exclaims Cyril. 'Now!'
Fuck. What's my everyday task?
I pick up my phone and press my voice-mail code. I can be listening to my messages.
I look around the department — and see that everyone else has done the same thing.
We can't all be on the phone. This is so stupid! OK, I'll just switch on my computer and wait
for it to warm up.
As I watch the screen changing colour, Artemis starts talking in a loud voice.
'I think the whole essence of the concept is vitality,' she says, her eye constantly flicking
towards the door. 'D'you see what I mean?'
'Er, yes,' says Nick. 'I mean, in a modern marketing environment, I think we need to be
looking at a… um… fusion of strategy and forward-thinking vision…'
God, my computer's slow today. Jack Harper will arrive and I'll still be staring at it like a
moron.
I know what I'll do. I'll be the person getting a coffee. I mean, what could be more natural
than that?
'I think I'll get a coffee,' I say self-consciously, and get up from my seat.
'Could you get me one?' says Artemis, looking up briefly. 'So anyway, on my MBA course…'
The coffee machine is near the entrance to the department, in its own little alcove. As I'm
waiting for the noxious liquid to fill my cup, I glance up, and see Graham Hillingdon walking
out of the admin department, followed by a couple of others. Shit! He's coming!
OK. Keep cool. Just wait for the second cup to fill, nice and natural…
And there he is! With his blond hair and his expensive-looking suit, and his dark glasses. But
to my slight surprise, he steps back, out of the way.
In fact, no-one's even looking at him. Everyone's attention is focused on some other guy. A
guy in jeans and a black turtleneck who's walking out now.
As I stare in fascination, he turns. And as I see his face I feel an almighty thud, as though a
bowling ball's landed hard in my chest.
Oh my God.
It's him.
The same dark eyes. The same lines etched around them. The stubble's gone, but it's definitely
him.
It's the man from the plane.
What's he doing here?
And why is everyone's attention on him? He's speaking now, and they're lapping up every
word he says.
He turns again, and I instinctively duck back out of sight, trying to keep calm. What's he
doing here? He can't-
That can't be-
That can't possibly be-
With wobbly legs, I walk back to my desk, trying not to drop the coffee on the floor.
'Hey,' I say to Artemis, my voice pitched slightly too high. 'Erm… do you know what Jack
Harper looks like?'
'No,' she says, and takes her coffee. 'Thanks.'
'Dark hair,' says someone.
'Dark?' I swallow. 'Not blond?'
'He's coming this way!' hisses someone. 'He's coming!'
With weak legs I sink into my chair and sip my coffee, not tasting it.
'… our head of marketing and promotion, Paul Fletcher,' I can hear Graham saying.
'Good to meet you, Paul,' comes the same dry, American voice.
It's him. It's definitely him.
OK, keep calm. Maybe he won't remember me. It was one short flight. He probably takes a lot
of flights.
'Everyone.' Paul is leading him into the centre of the office. 'I'm delighted to introduce our
founding father, the man who has influenced and inspired a generation of marketeers — Jack
Harper!'
A round of applause breaks out, and Jack Harper shakes his head, smiling. 'Please,' he says.
'No fuss. Just do what you would normally do.'
He starts to walk around the office, pausing now and then to talk to people. Paul is leading the
way, making all the introductions, and following them silently everywhere is the blond man.
'Here he comes!' Artemis hisses, and everyone at our end of the office stiffens.
My heart starts to thump, and I shrink into my chair, trying to hide behind my computer.
Maybe he won't recognize me. Maybe he won't remember. Maybe he won't-
Fuck. He's looking at me. I see the flash of surprise in his eyes, and he raises his eyebrows.
He recognizes me.
Please don't come over, I silently pray. Please don't come over.
'And who's this?' he says to Paul.
'This is Emma Corrigan, one of our junior marketing assistants.'
He's walking towards me. Artemis has stopped talking. Everyone's staring. I'm hot with
embarrassment.
'Hello,' he says pleasantly.
'Hello,' I manage. 'Mr Harper.'
OK, so he recognizes me. But that doesn't necessarily mean he remembers anything I said. A
few random comments thrown out by a person in the next-door seat. Who's going to
remember that? Maybe he wasn't even listening.
'And what do you do?'
'I, um, assist the marketing department and I help with setting up promotional initiatives,' I
mumble.
'Emma was in Glasgow only last week on business,' puts in Paul, giving me a completely
phoney smile. 'We believe in giving our junior staff responsibility as early as possible.'
'Very wise,' says Jack Harper, nodding. His gaze runs over my desk and alights with sudden
interest on my polystyrene cup. He looks up and meets my eye. 'How's the coffee?' he asks
pleasantly. 'Tasty?'
Like a tape recording in my head, I suddenly hear my own stupid voice, prattling on.
'The coffee at work is the most disgusting stuff you've ever drunk, absolute poison …'
'It's great!' I say. 'Really… delicious!'
'I'm very glad to hear it.' There's a spark of amusement in his eyes, and I feel myself redden.
He remembers. Fuck. He remembers.
'And this is Artemis Harrison,' says Paul. 'One of our brightest young marketing executives.'
'Artemis,' says Jack Harper thoughtfully. He takes a few steps towards her work station.
'That's a nice big desk you've got there, Artemis.' He smiles at her. 'Is it new?'
'… this new desk arrived the other day, and she just took it …'
He remembers everything, doesn't he? Everything.
Oh God. What the fuck else did I say?
I'm sitting perfectly still, while Artemis makes some showy-off reply, with my pleasant, goodemployee
expression. But my mind is frantically spooling back, trying to remember, trying to
piece together what I said. I mean, God, I told this man everything about myself. Everything. I
told him what sort of knickers I wear, and what flavour ice-cream I like, and how I lost my
virginity, and-
My blood runs cold.
I'm remembering something I should not have told him.
Something I should not have told anyone.
'… I know I shouldn't have done it, but I so wanted to get the job …'
I told him about faking the A grade on my CV.
Well, that's it. I'm dead.
He'll fire me. I'll get a record for being dishonest and no-one will ever employ me again, and
I'll end up on a 'Britain's Worst Jobs' documentary, clearing up cow poo, saying brightly 'It's
not too bad, really.'
OK. Don't panic. There must be something I can do. I'll apologize. Yes. I'll say it was an error
of judgement which I now deeply regret, and I never meant to mislead the company, and-
No. I'll say, 'Actually, I did get an A grade, haha, silly me I forgot!' And then I'll forge a
GCSE certificate with one of those calligraphy kits. I mean, he's American. He'll never know.
No. He's bound to find out. Oh God. Oh God.
OK, maybe I'm over-reacting here. Let's just get things in proportion. Jack Harper is a huge
important guy. Look at him! He's got limos and flunkies, and a huge great company which
makes millions every year. He doesn't care if one of his employees got a poxy A grade or not.
I mean, honestly!
I laugh out loud in my nerves, and Artemis gives me an odd look.
'I'd just like to say that I'm very glad to meet you all,' says Jack Harper, looking around the
silent office. 'And also introduce my assistant Sven Petersen.' He gestures to the guy with
blond hair. 'I'll be staying here for a few days so I hope I'll get to know a few of you better. As
you're aware, Pete Laidler, who founded the Panther Corporation with me, was British. For
that reason, among many others, this country has always been immensely important to me.'
A sympathetic murmur goes around the office. He lifts a hand, nods, and walks away,
followed by Sven and all the executives. There's silence until he's gone, then an excited
babble breaks out.
I feel my whole body sag in relief. Thank God. Thank God.
Honestly, I'm such a moron. Fancy thinking even for a moment that Jack Harper would
remember what I said. Let alone care about it! Fancy thinking he would take time out of his
busy, important schedule, for something as tiny and insignificant as whether I faked my CV or
not! As I reach for my mouse and click on a new document, I'm actually smiling.
'Emma.' I look up to see Paul standing over my desk. 'Jack Harper would like to see you,' he
says curtly.
'What?' My smile fades away. 'Me?'
'The meeting room in five minutes.'
'Did he say why?'
'No.'
Paul strides off, and I gaze unseeingly at my computer screen, feeling sick.
I was right first time.
I'm going to lose my job.
I'm going to lose my job because of one stupid comment on one stupid plane ride.
Why did I have to get upgraded? Why did I have to open my stupid mouth? I'm just a stupid,
stupid blabbermouth.
'Why does Jack Harper want to see you?' says Artemis, sounding put out.
'I don't know,' I say.
'Is he seeing anyone else?'
'I don't know!' I say distractedly.
To stop her asking any more questions, I start typing drivel into my computer, my mind
whirring round and round.
I can't lose this job. I can't ruin yet another career.
He can't fire me. He just can't. It's not fair. I didn't know who he was. I mean, obviously, if
he'd told me he was my employer, I would never have mentioned my CV. Or… any of it.
And anyway, it's not as if I faked my degree, is it? It's not as if I've got a criminal record or
something. I'm a good employee. I try really hard and I don't skive off that often, and I put in
all that overtime with the sportswear promotion, and I organized the Christmas raffle…
I'm typing harder and harder, and my face is growing red with agitation.
'Emma.' Paul is looking meaningfully at his watch.
'Right.' I take a deep breath and stand up.
I'm not going to let him fire me. I'm just not going to let it happen.
I stride across the office and down the corridor to the meeting room, knock on the door and
push it open.
Jack Harper is sitting on a chair at the conference table, scribbling something in a notebook.
As I come in, he looks up, and the grave expression on his face makes my stomach turn over.
But I have to defend myself. I have to keep this job.
'Hi,' he says. 'Can you close the door?' He waits until I've done so, then looks up. 'Emma, we
need to talk about something.'
'I'm aware that we do,' I say, trying to keep my voice steady. 'But I'd like to say my part first,
if I may.'
For a moment Jack Harper looks taken aback — then he raises his eyebrows.
'Sure. Go ahead.'
I walk into the room, take a deep breath and look him straight in the eye.
'Mr Harper, I know what you want to see me about. I know it was wrong. It was an error of
judgement which I deeply regret. I'm extremely sorry, and it will never happen again. But in
my defence…' I can hear my voice rising in emotion. 'In my defence, I had no idea who you
were on that plane ride. And I don't believe I should be penalized for what was an honest
genuine mistake.'
There's a pause.
'You think I'm penalizing you?' says Jack Harper at last, with a frown.
How can he be so callous?
'Yes! You must realize I would never have mentioned my CV if I'd known who you were! It
was like a… a honeytrap! You know, if this was a court the judge would throw it out. They
wouldn't even let you-'
'Your CV?' Jack Harper's brow clears. 'Ah! The A grade on your resume.' He gives me a
penetrating look. 'The falsified A grade, I should say.'
Hearing it out loud like that silences me. I can feel my face growing hotter and hotter.
'You know, a lot of people would call that fraud,' says Jack Harper, leaning back in his chair.
'I know they would. I know it was wrong. I shouldn't have… But it doesn't affect the way I
do my job. It doesn't mean anything.'
'You think?' He shakes his head thoughtfully. 'I don't know. Going from a C grade to an A
grade… that's quite a jump. What if we need you to do some math?'
'I can do maths,' I say desperately. 'Ask me a maths question. Go on, ask me anything.'
'OK.' His mouth is twitching. 'Eight nines.'
I stare at him, my heart racing, my mind blank. Eight nines. I've got no idea. Fuck. OK, once
nine is nine. Two nines are-
No. I've got it. Eight tens are 80. So eight nines must be-
'Seventy-two!' I cry, and flinch as he gives a tiny half-smile. 'It's seventy-two,' I add more
calmly.
'Very good.' He gestures politely to a chair. 'Now. Have you finished what you wanted to say
or is there more?'
I rub my face confusedly. 'You're… not going to fire me?'
'No,' says Jack Harper patiently. 'I'm not going to fire you. Now can we talk?'
As I sit down, a horrible suspicion starts growing in my mind.
'Was…' I clear my throat. 'Was my CV what you wanted to see me about?'
'No,' he says mildly. 'That wasn't what I wanted to see you about.'
I want to die.
I want to die right here, right now.
'Right.' I smooth back my hair, trying to compose myself; trying to look businesslike. 'Right.
Well. So er, what did you… what…'
'I have a small favour to ask you.'
'Right!' I feel a thud of anticipation. 'Anything! I mean… what is it?'
'For various reasons,' says Jack Harper slowly, 'I would prefer it that nobody knows I was in
Scotland last week.' He meets my eyes. 'So I would like it very much if we could keep our
little meeting between ourselves.'
'Right!' I say after a pause. 'Of course! Absolutely. I can do that.'
'You haven't told anyone?'
'No. No-one. Not even my… I mean, no-one. I haven't told anyone.'
'Good. Thank you very much, I appreciate it.' He smiles, and gets up from his chair. 'Nice to
meet you again, Emma. I'm sure I'll see you again.'
'That's it?' I say, taken aback.
'That's it. Unless you had anything else you wanted to discuss.'
'No!' I get to my feet hurriedly, banging my ankle on the table leg.
I mean, what did I think? That he was going to ask me to head up his exciting new
international project?
Jack Harper opens the door, and holds it politely for me. And I'm halfway out when I stop.
'Wait.'
'What is it?'
'What shall I say you wanted to talk to me about?' I say awkwardly. 'Everyone's going to ask
me.'
'Why not say we were discussing logistics?' He raises his eyebrows and closes the door.
SIX
For the rest of the day there's a kind of festive atmosphere at work. But I just sit there, unable
to believe what just happened. And as I travel home that evening, my heart is still pounding at
the unlikeliness of it all. At the injustice of it all.
He was a stranger. He was supposed to be a stranger. The whole point about strangers is, they
disappear into the ether, never to be seen again. Not turn up at the office. Not ask you what
eight nines are. Not turn out to be your mega-boss employer.
Well, all I can say is, that's taught me. My parents always said never talk to strangers, and
they were right. I'm never telling a stranger anything again. Ever.
I've arranged to go to Connor's flat in the evening, and when I arrive I feel my body expand in
relief. Away from the office. Away from all the endless Jack Harper talk. And Connor's
already cooking. I mean, how perfect is that? The kitchen is full of a wonderful garlickyherby
smell, and there's a glass of wine already waiting for me on the table.
'Hi!' I say, and give him a kiss.
'Hi, darling!' he says, looking up from the stove.
Shit. I totally forgot to say Darling. OK, how am I going to remember this?
I know. I'll write it on my hand.
'Have a look at those. I downloaded them from the Internet.' Connor gestures to a folder on
the table with a wide smile. I open it, and find myself looking at a grainy black and white
picture of a room with a sofa and a pot plant.
'Flat details!' I say, taken aback. 'Wow. That's quick. I haven't even given notice yet.'
'Well, we need to start looking,' says Connor. 'Look, that one's got a balcony. And there's one
with a working fireplace!'
'Gosh!'
I sit down on a nearby chair and peer at the blurry photograph, trying to imagine me and
Connor living in it together. Sitting on that sofa. Just the two of us, every single evening.
I wonder what we'll talk about.
Well! We'll talk about… whatever we always talk about.
Maybe we'll play Monopoly. Just if we get bored or anything.
I turn to another sheet and feel a pang of excitement.
This flat has wooden floors and shutters! I've always wanted wooden floors and shutters. And
look at that cool kitchen, with all granite worktops…
Oh, this is going to be so great. I can't wait!
I take a happy slug of wine, and am just sinking comfortably back when Connor says, 'So!
Isn't it exciting about Jack Harper coming over.'
Oh God. Please. Not more talk about bloody Jack Harper.
'Did you get to meet him?' he adds, coming over with a bowl of peanuts. 'I heard he went into
Marketing.'
'Um, yes, I met him.'
'He came into Research this afternoon, but I was at a meeting.' Connor looks at me, agog. 'So
what's he like?'
'He's… I don't know. Dark hair… American… So how did the meeting go?'
Connor totally ignores my attempt to change the subject.
'Isn't it exciting, though?' His face is glowing. 'Jack Harper!'
'I suppose so.' I shrug. 'Anyway-'
'Emma! Aren't you excited?' Connor looks astonished. 'We're talking about the founder of the
company! We're talking about the man who came up with the concept of Panther Cola. Who
took an unknown brand, repackaged it and sold it to the world! He turned a failing company
into a huge, successful corporation. And now we're all getting to meet him. Don't you find
that thrilling?'
'Yes,' I say at last. 'It's… thrilling.'
'This could be the opportunity of a lifetime for all of us. To learn from the genius himself!
You know, he's never written a book, he's never shared his thoughts with anyone except Pete
Laidler…' He reaches into the fridge for a can of Panther Cola and cracks it open. Connor has
to be the most loyal employee in the world. I once bought a Pepsi when we were out on a
picnic, and he nearly had a hernia.
'You know what I would love above anything?' he says, taking a gulp. 'A one-to-one with
him.' He looks at me, his eyes shining. 'A one-to-one with Jack Harper! Wouldn't that be the
most fantastic career boost?'
A one-to-one with Jack Harper.
Yup, that boosted my career great.
'I suppose,' I say reluctantly.
'Of course it would be! Just having the chance to listen to him. To hear what he has to say! I
mean, the guy's been shut away for three years. What ideas must he have been generating all
this time? He must have so many insights and theories, not just about marketing, but about
business… about the way people work… about life itself.'
Connor's enthusiastic voice is like salt rubbing into my sore skin. So, let's just see quite how
spectacularly I have played this wrong, shall we? I'm sitting on a plane next to the great Jack
Harper, creative genius and source of all wisdom on business and marketing, not to mention
the great mysteries of life itself.
And what do I do? Do I ask him insightful questions? Do I engage him in intelligent
conversation? Do I learn anything from him at all?
No. I blabber on about what kind of underwear I prefer.
Great career move, Emma. One of the best.
The next day, Connor is off to a meeting first thing, but before he goes he digs out an old
magazine article about Jack Harper.
'Read this,' he says, through a mouthful of toast. 'It's good background information.'
I don't want any background information! I feel like retorting, but Connor's already out of the
door.
I'm tempted to leave it behind and not even bother looking at it, but it's quite a long journey
from Connor's place to work, and I haven't got any magazines with me. So I take the article
with me, and grudgingly start reading it on the tube, and I suppose it is quite an interesting
story. How Harper and Pete Laidler were friends, and they decided to go into business, and
Jack was the creative one and Pete was the extrovert playboy one, and they became
multimillionaires together, and they were so close they were practically like brothers. And
then Pete was killed in a car crash. And Jack was so devastated he shut himself away from the
world and said he was giving it all up.
And of course now I read all this I'm starting to feel a bit stupid. I should have recognized
Jack Harper. I mean, I certainly recognize Pete Laidler. For one thing he looks — looked — just
like Robert Redford. And for another, he was all over the papers when he died. I can
remember it vividly now, even though I had nothing to do with the Panther Corporation then.
He crashed his Mercedes, and everyone said it was just like Princess Diana.
I'm so busy reading, I nearly miss my stop and have to make one of those stupid dashes for
the doors, where everyone looks at you like: You complete moron, did you not know that
your stop was coming up? And then, as the doors close, I realize I've left the article behind on
the tube.
Oh well. I'd kind of got the gist of it.
It's a bright sunshiny morning, and I head towards the juice bar where I usually pop in before
work. I've got into the habit of picking up a mango smoothie every morning, because it's
healthy.
And also because there is a very cute New Zealand guy who works behind the counter, called
Aidan. (In fact, I had a miniature crush on him, before I started going out with Connor.) When
he isn't working in the smoothie bar he's doing a course on sports science, and he's always
telling me stuff about essential minerals, and what your carb-ratio should be.
'Hiya,' he says as I come in. 'How's the kick-boxing going?'
'Oh!' I say, colouring slightly. 'It's great, thanks.'
'Did you try that new manoeuvre I told you about?'
'Yes! It really helped!'
'I thought it would,' he says, looking pleased, and goes off to make my mango smoothie.
OK. So the truth is, I don't really do kick-boxing. I did try it once, at our local leisure centre,
and to be honest, I was shocked! I had no idea it would be so violent. But Aidan was so
enthused about it, and kept saying how it would transform my life, I couldn't bring myself to
admit I'd given up after only one session. It just seemed so lame. So I kind of… fibbed. And I
mean, it's not like it matters. He'll never know. It's not as if I ever see him outside the
smoothie bar.
'That's one mango smoothie,' says Aidan.
'And a chocolate brownie,' I say. 'For… my colleague.' Aidan picks up the brownie and pops
it in a bag.
'You know, that colleague of yours needs to think about her refined sugar levels,' he says with
a concerned frown. 'That must be — four brownies this week?'
'I know,' I say earnestly. 'I'll tell her. Thanks, Aidan.'
'No problem!' says Aidan. 'And remember: one-two-swivel!'
'One-two-swivel,' I repeat brightly. 'I'll remember!'
As I arrive at the office, Paul appears out of his room, snaps his fingers at me and says,
'Appraisal.'
My stomach gives an almighty lurch, and I nearly choke on my last bite of chocolate brownie'.
Oh God. This is it. I'm not ready.
Yes I am. Come on. Exude confidence. I am a woman on her way somewhere.
Suddenly I remember Kerry and her 'I am a successful woman' walk. I know Kerry's an
obnoxious cow, but she does have her own travel agency and make zillions of pounds a year.
She must be doing something right. Maybe I should give it a go. Cautiously I stick out my
bust, lift my head and start striding across the office with a fixed, alert expression on my face.
'Have you got period pain or something?' says Paul crudely as I reach his door.
'No!' I say in shock.
'Well you look very odd. Now sit down.' He shuts the door, sits down at his desk and opens a
form marked Staff Appraisal Review. 'I'm sorry I couldn't see you yesterday. But what with
Jack Harper's arrival, everything got buggered up.'
'That's OK.'
I try to smile but my mouth is suddenly dry. I can't believe how nervous I feel. This is worse
than a school report.
'OK. So… Emma Corrigan.' He looks at the form and starts ticking boxes. 'Generally, you're
doing fine. You're not generally late… you understand the tasks given to you… you're fairly
efficient… you work OK with your colleagues… blah blah… blah… Any problems?' he
says, looking up.
'Er… no.'
'Do you feel racially harassed?'
'Er… no.'
'Good.' He ticks another box. 'Well I think that's it. Well done. Can you send Nick in to see
me?'
What? Has he forgotten?
'Um, what about my promotion?' I say, trying not to sound too anxious.
'Promotion?' He stares at me. 'What promotion?'
'To Marketing Executive.'
'What the fuck are you talking about?'
'It said. It said in the ad for my job…' I pull the crumpled ad out of my jeans pocket, where
it's been since yesterday. '"Possible promotion after a year." It says it right there.' I push it
across the desk, and he looks at it with a frown.
'Emma, that was only for exceptional candidates. You're not ready for a promotion. You'll
have to prove yourself first.'
'But I'm doing everything as well as I can! If you just give me a chance-'
'You had the chance at Glen Oil.' Paul raises his eyebrows at me and I feel a twinge of
humiliation. 'Emma, bottom line is, you're not ready for a higher position. In a year we'll see.'
'A year?'
'OK? Now hop it.'
My mind is whirling. I have to accept this in a calm, dignified way. I have to say something
like 'I respect your decision, Paul', shake his hand and leave the room. This is what I have to
do.
The only trouble is, I can't seem to get up out of my chair.
After a few moments Paul looks puzzledly at me. 'That's it, Emma.'
I can't move. Once I leave this room, it's over. '
'Emma?'
'Please promote me,' I say desperately. 'Please. I have to get a promotion to impress my family.
It's the only thing I want in the whole world, and I'll work so hard, I promise, I'll come in at
weekends, and I'll… I'll wear smart suits…'
'What?' Paul is staring at me as though I've turned into a goldfish.
'You don't have to pay me any more salary! I'll do all the same jobs as before. I'll even pay to
have my new business cards printed! I mean, it won't make any difference to you. You won't
even know I've been promoted!'
I break off, breathing hard.
'I think you'll find that's not quite the point of promotion, Emma,' says Paul sarcastically. 'I'm
afraid the answer's no. Even more so.'
'But-'
'Emma, a word of advice. If you want to get ahead, you have to create your own chances. You
have to carve out your own opportunities. Now seriously. Could you please fuck off out of my
office and get Nick for me?'
As I leave I can see him raising his eyes to heaven and scribbling something else on my form.
Great. He's probably writing 'Deranged lunatic, seek medical help'.
As I walk dejectedly back to my desk, Artemis looks up with a beady expression. 'Oh, Emma,'
she says, 'your cousin Kerry just called for you.'
'Really?' I say in surprise. Kerry never phones me at work. In fact she never phones me at all.
'Did she leave a message?'
'Yes, she did. She wanted to know, have you heard about your promotion yet?'
OK. This is now official. I hate Kerry.
'Oh right,' I say, trying to sound as though this is some boring, everyday enquiry. 'Thanks.'
'Are you being promoted, Emma? I didn't know that!' Her voice is high and piercing, and I see
a couple of people raise their heads in interest. 'So, are you going to become a marketing
executive?'
'No,' I mutter, my face hot with humiliation. 'I'm not.'
'Oh!' Artemis pulls a mock-confused face. 'So why did she-'
'Shut up, Artemis,' says Caroline. I give her a grateful look and slump into my chair.
Another whole year. Another whole year of being the crappy marketing assistant, and
everyone thinking I'm useless. Another year of being in debt to Dad, and Kerry and Nev
laughing at me, and feeling like a complete failure. I switch on my computer and dispiritedly
type a couple of words. But suddenly all my energy's gone.
to believe what just happened. And as I travel home that evening, my heart is still pounding at
the unlikeliness of it all. At the injustice of it all.
He was a stranger. He was supposed to be a stranger. The whole point about strangers is, they
disappear into the ether, never to be seen again. Not turn up at the office. Not ask you what
eight nines are. Not turn out to be your mega-boss employer.
Well, all I can say is, that's taught me. My parents always said never talk to strangers, and
they were right. I'm never telling a stranger anything again. Ever.
I've arranged to go to Connor's flat in the evening, and when I arrive I feel my body expand in
relief. Away from the office. Away from all the endless Jack Harper talk. And Connor's
already cooking. I mean, how perfect is that? The kitchen is full of a wonderful garlickyherby
smell, and there's a glass of wine already waiting for me on the table.
'Hi!' I say, and give him a kiss.
'Hi, darling!' he says, looking up from the stove.
Shit. I totally forgot to say Darling. OK, how am I going to remember this?
I know. I'll write it on my hand.
'Have a look at those. I downloaded them from the Internet.' Connor gestures to a folder on
the table with a wide smile. I open it, and find myself looking at a grainy black and white
picture of a room with a sofa and a pot plant.
'Flat details!' I say, taken aback. 'Wow. That's quick. I haven't even given notice yet.'
'Well, we need to start looking,' says Connor. 'Look, that one's got a balcony. And there's one
with a working fireplace!'
'Gosh!'
I sit down on a nearby chair and peer at the blurry photograph, trying to imagine me and
Connor living in it together. Sitting on that sofa. Just the two of us, every single evening.
I wonder what we'll talk about.
Well! We'll talk about… whatever we always talk about.
Maybe we'll play Monopoly. Just if we get bored or anything.
I turn to another sheet and feel a pang of excitement.
This flat has wooden floors and shutters! I've always wanted wooden floors and shutters. And
look at that cool kitchen, with all granite worktops…
Oh, this is going to be so great. I can't wait!
I take a happy slug of wine, and am just sinking comfortably back when Connor says, 'So!
Isn't it exciting about Jack Harper coming over.'
Oh God. Please. Not more talk about bloody Jack Harper.
'Did you get to meet him?' he adds, coming over with a bowl of peanuts. 'I heard he went into
Marketing.'
'Um, yes, I met him.'
'He came into Research this afternoon, but I was at a meeting.' Connor looks at me, agog. 'So
what's he like?'
'He's… I don't know. Dark hair… American… So how did the meeting go?'
Connor totally ignores my attempt to change the subject.
'Isn't it exciting, though?' His face is glowing. 'Jack Harper!'
'I suppose so.' I shrug. 'Anyway-'
'Emma! Aren't you excited?' Connor looks astonished. 'We're talking about the founder of the
company! We're talking about the man who came up with the concept of Panther Cola. Who
took an unknown brand, repackaged it and sold it to the world! He turned a failing company
into a huge, successful corporation. And now we're all getting to meet him. Don't you find
that thrilling?'
'Yes,' I say at last. 'It's… thrilling.'
'This could be the opportunity of a lifetime for all of us. To learn from the genius himself!
You know, he's never written a book, he's never shared his thoughts with anyone except Pete
Laidler…' He reaches into the fridge for a can of Panther Cola and cracks it open. Connor has
to be the most loyal employee in the world. I once bought a Pepsi when we were out on a
picnic, and he nearly had a hernia.
'You know what I would love above anything?' he says, taking a gulp. 'A one-to-one with
him.' He looks at me, his eyes shining. 'A one-to-one with Jack Harper! Wouldn't that be the
most fantastic career boost?'
A one-to-one with Jack Harper.
Yup, that boosted my career great.
'I suppose,' I say reluctantly.
'Of course it would be! Just having the chance to listen to him. To hear what he has to say! I
mean, the guy's been shut away for three years. What ideas must he have been generating all
this time? He must have so many insights and theories, not just about marketing, but about
business… about the way people work… about life itself.'
Connor's enthusiastic voice is like salt rubbing into my sore skin. So, let's just see quite how
spectacularly I have played this wrong, shall we? I'm sitting on a plane next to the great Jack
Harper, creative genius and source of all wisdom on business and marketing, not to mention
the great mysteries of life itself.
And what do I do? Do I ask him insightful questions? Do I engage him in intelligent
conversation? Do I learn anything from him at all?
No. I blabber on about what kind of underwear I prefer.
Great career move, Emma. One of the best.
The next day, Connor is off to a meeting first thing, but before he goes he digs out an old
magazine article about Jack Harper.
'Read this,' he says, through a mouthful of toast. 'It's good background information.'
I don't want any background information! I feel like retorting, but Connor's already out of the
door.
I'm tempted to leave it behind and not even bother looking at it, but it's quite a long journey
from Connor's place to work, and I haven't got any magazines with me. So I take the article
with me, and grudgingly start reading it on the tube, and I suppose it is quite an interesting
story. How Harper and Pete Laidler were friends, and they decided to go into business, and
Jack was the creative one and Pete was the extrovert playboy one, and they became
multimillionaires together, and they were so close they were practically like brothers. And
then Pete was killed in a car crash. And Jack was so devastated he shut himself away from the
world and said he was giving it all up.
And of course now I read all this I'm starting to feel a bit stupid. I should have recognized
Jack Harper. I mean, I certainly recognize Pete Laidler. For one thing he looks — looked — just
like Robert Redford. And for another, he was all over the papers when he died. I can
remember it vividly now, even though I had nothing to do with the Panther Corporation then.
He crashed his Mercedes, and everyone said it was just like Princess Diana.
I'm so busy reading, I nearly miss my stop and have to make one of those stupid dashes for
the doors, where everyone looks at you like: You complete moron, did you not know that
your stop was coming up? And then, as the doors close, I realize I've left the article behind on
the tube.
Oh well. I'd kind of got the gist of it.
It's a bright sunshiny morning, and I head towards the juice bar where I usually pop in before
work. I've got into the habit of picking up a mango smoothie every morning, because it's
healthy.
And also because there is a very cute New Zealand guy who works behind the counter, called
Aidan. (In fact, I had a miniature crush on him, before I started going out with Connor.) When
he isn't working in the smoothie bar he's doing a course on sports science, and he's always
telling me stuff about essential minerals, and what your carb-ratio should be.
'Hiya,' he says as I come in. 'How's the kick-boxing going?'
'Oh!' I say, colouring slightly. 'It's great, thanks.'
'Did you try that new manoeuvre I told you about?'
'Yes! It really helped!'
'I thought it would,' he says, looking pleased, and goes off to make my mango smoothie.
OK. So the truth is, I don't really do kick-boxing. I did try it once, at our local leisure centre,
and to be honest, I was shocked! I had no idea it would be so violent. But Aidan was so
enthused about it, and kept saying how it would transform my life, I couldn't bring myself to
admit I'd given up after only one session. It just seemed so lame. So I kind of… fibbed. And I
mean, it's not like it matters. He'll never know. It's not as if I ever see him outside the
smoothie bar.
'That's one mango smoothie,' says Aidan.
'And a chocolate brownie,' I say. 'For… my colleague.' Aidan picks up the brownie and pops
it in a bag.
'You know, that colleague of yours needs to think about her refined sugar levels,' he says with
a concerned frown. 'That must be — four brownies this week?'
'I know,' I say earnestly. 'I'll tell her. Thanks, Aidan.'
'No problem!' says Aidan. 'And remember: one-two-swivel!'
'One-two-swivel,' I repeat brightly. 'I'll remember!'
As I arrive at the office, Paul appears out of his room, snaps his fingers at me and says,
'Appraisal.'
My stomach gives an almighty lurch, and I nearly choke on my last bite of chocolate brownie'.
Oh God. This is it. I'm not ready.
Yes I am. Come on. Exude confidence. I am a woman on her way somewhere.
Suddenly I remember Kerry and her 'I am a successful woman' walk. I know Kerry's an
obnoxious cow, but she does have her own travel agency and make zillions of pounds a year.
She must be doing something right. Maybe I should give it a go. Cautiously I stick out my
bust, lift my head and start striding across the office with a fixed, alert expression on my face.
'Have you got period pain or something?' says Paul crudely as I reach his door.
'No!' I say in shock.
'Well you look very odd. Now sit down.' He shuts the door, sits down at his desk and opens a
form marked Staff Appraisal Review. 'I'm sorry I couldn't see you yesterday. But what with
Jack Harper's arrival, everything got buggered up.'
'That's OK.'
I try to smile but my mouth is suddenly dry. I can't believe how nervous I feel. This is worse
than a school report.
'OK. So… Emma Corrigan.' He looks at the form and starts ticking boxes. 'Generally, you're
doing fine. You're not generally late… you understand the tasks given to you… you're fairly
efficient… you work OK with your colleagues… blah blah… blah… Any problems?' he
says, looking up.
'Er… no.'
'Do you feel racially harassed?'
'Er… no.'
'Good.' He ticks another box. 'Well I think that's it. Well done. Can you send Nick in to see
me?'
What? Has he forgotten?
'Um, what about my promotion?' I say, trying not to sound too anxious.
'Promotion?' He stares at me. 'What promotion?'
'To Marketing Executive.'
'What the fuck are you talking about?'
'It said. It said in the ad for my job…' I pull the crumpled ad out of my jeans pocket, where
it's been since yesterday. '"Possible promotion after a year." It says it right there.' I push it
across the desk, and he looks at it with a frown.
'Emma, that was only for exceptional candidates. You're not ready for a promotion. You'll
have to prove yourself first.'
'But I'm doing everything as well as I can! If you just give me a chance-'
'You had the chance at Glen Oil.' Paul raises his eyebrows at me and I feel a twinge of
humiliation. 'Emma, bottom line is, you're not ready for a higher position. In a year we'll see.'
'A year?'
'OK? Now hop it.'
My mind is whirling. I have to accept this in a calm, dignified way. I have to say something
like 'I respect your decision, Paul', shake his hand and leave the room. This is what I have to
do.
The only trouble is, I can't seem to get up out of my chair.
After a few moments Paul looks puzzledly at me. 'That's it, Emma.'
I can't move. Once I leave this room, it's over. '
'Emma?'
'Please promote me,' I say desperately. 'Please. I have to get a promotion to impress my family.
It's the only thing I want in the whole world, and I'll work so hard, I promise, I'll come in at
weekends, and I'll… I'll wear smart suits…'
'What?' Paul is staring at me as though I've turned into a goldfish.
'You don't have to pay me any more salary! I'll do all the same jobs as before. I'll even pay to
have my new business cards printed! I mean, it won't make any difference to you. You won't
even know I've been promoted!'
I break off, breathing hard.
'I think you'll find that's not quite the point of promotion, Emma,' says Paul sarcastically. 'I'm
afraid the answer's no. Even more so.'
'But-'
'Emma, a word of advice. If you want to get ahead, you have to create your own chances. You
have to carve out your own opportunities. Now seriously. Could you please fuck off out of my
office and get Nick for me?'
As I leave I can see him raising his eyes to heaven and scribbling something else on my form.
Great. He's probably writing 'Deranged lunatic, seek medical help'.
As I walk dejectedly back to my desk, Artemis looks up with a beady expression. 'Oh, Emma,'
she says, 'your cousin Kerry just called for you.'
'Really?' I say in surprise. Kerry never phones me at work. In fact she never phones me at all.
'Did she leave a message?'
'Yes, she did. She wanted to know, have you heard about your promotion yet?'
OK. This is now official. I hate Kerry.
'Oh right,' I say, trying to sound as though this is some boring, everyday enquiry. 'Thanks.'
'Are you being promoted, Emma? I didn't know that!' Her voice is high and piercing, and I see
a couple of people raise their heads in interest. 'So, are you going to become a marketing
executive?'
'No,' I mutter, my face hot with humiliation. 'I'm not.'
'Oh!' Artemis pulls a mock-confused face. 'So why did she-'
'Shut up, Artemis,' says Caroline. I give her a grateful look and slump into my chair.
Another whole year. Another whole year of being the crappy marketing assistant, and
everyone thinking I'm useless. Another year of being in debt to Dad, and Kerry and Nev
laughing at me, and feeling like a complete failure. I switch on my computer and dispiritedly
type a couple of words. But suddenly all my energy's gone.